A missing brother
by A Little Here and There
Summary: Deans missing and only a trail of blood is left.
1. Chapter 1

**Missing Brother**

**Disclaimer;** I do not own anyone or anything. As much as I love to.

Rated for safety, like usual, hope you guys enjoy and please review, I'm up for structured criticism but don't beat me up too much. ^^

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Little Sammy, well he wasn't so little anymore, sat on the hood of his dad's black impala looking into a very dense forest. His big brother Dean and his dad had walked into the woods a couple of hours ago and Sam was still waiting. 'Protect the car' Dad had said. Sam's face screwed up in distaste at the memory. Dean had thrown him a 45 and had trotted after dad like a puppy on a leash, shotgun in hand.

Sam swung his already long legs back and forth, the slight thumb of his shoe tapping the car was the only sound heard on the old back country road. Sam was fourteen years old, he thought that was plenty old enough. Dean had started hunting when he was younger, hell he had started hunting when he was eight. Sam was almost just as good at hand to hand combat as Dean was. He was smart, had good grades, not that grades mattered in the world of hunters. He was fair at archery and could handle a gun just like the next guy. He huffed again to himself, it just wasn't fair. His life was full of dos and don'ts. When would it stop and when would he find the same thrill in hunting as Dean had apparently already found.

Sam was tired of being left behind to 'watch the car' and even more tired of being looked at as if he was three years old again and just another variable to get in the way. So when Sam heard the far off yells of pain, he had had enough. Grabbing another gun out of the trunk of the car, which he slung around his waste, he also grabbed his dad's several charms against demonic possession and the various withes curse.

Heart pounding, Sam ran full tilt in the direction of his family.

* * * *

Next thing Sam could see was the red that seemed to stain every tree and every square inch of the forest ground. But no dad and no Dean. Sam's heart rate spiked and he was left gasping for air. What could do this? What could leave a mess like this? And then he heard it again. The hoarse yells of Dad. Sam ran in the direction of the yelling. He followed the noise even though every instinct in his body told him to book it the hell out of there. He found John moaning on the ground, he was no longer yelling but his eyes were closed and he looked as if he was in immense pain.

"Dad? Dad!" Sam yelled, shaking his father's shoulders roughly. Trying to wake John up from whatever it was that held him in his grasp.

John stuttered back to reality almost mauling his son in the process. Sam jump back though and missed the pounches intended for him.

"Sam?" Concern flickered across his face that his youngest son was out in the woods but then it was masked into anger and Sam cringed.

"What are you doing? Why aren't you at the car?" John's face and entire body was covered in blood and his breath weezed, he looked in real bad condition, yet he still had enough breath in him to question Sam. "I _told _you to stay in the car. You deliberately disobeyed."

Sam groaned, here he was just trying to help out what looked like his dying father and yet he was pegged for disobedience. "Sorry D-, Sir. I-I heard someone screaming and thought I should help."

Sam felt pathetic, his head hung low and he rolled on the sides of his feet. Where was Dean?

John grunted and then slowly got to his feet. He gingerly touched the gash on his forehead and winced slightly. "Get back to the car."

"But where's Dean? Dad where's Dean?" Sam looked around, his eyes scanning the area looking for any sign of Dean. Panic was beginning to bubble as the boy realized the forest, which usually was so busy with activity, was dead quiet. The hairs at the back of his neck began to stand up. He looked up at John.

"Get back to the car Sam."

"But Dad-"

"Now Sam. Go back to the car now." John's face steeled over as he looked at his son who looked back with pleading eyes. John watched as the panic rose and then was crushed by anger in those eyes and the slightest feeling of regret surfaced within John.

John watched as Sam turned on his heels and walked away. He watched until he couldn't see Sam anymore and then turned back around in the small clearing. Everything was a mess. _He_ was a mess. He was in pain but he must have looked really bad because Sam had looked terrified. Sam was right though, where was Dean? Years of practice was the only thing that stood between his panic and his clear thinking. He rubbed his arms dumb founded, then began moving deeper in the woods. He yelled his name occasionally, all the while knowing it was just a show. He had no idea where his son was.

So voila! ^^ Again, please review. No guarantee when an update may occur. Lol.


	2. Chapter 2

I own nothing.^^

Chapter 2

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The ground was wet and smelt terrible. Almost like rotting meat. Dean recognized the smell and grimaced slightly as he tried to sit up. He couldn't though, bound with what felt like rope and his face shoved in dirt. He spat out what dirt he could and rolled on his back, which was a huge mistake. Pain shot throughout his body originating from no one spot in particular and he let out a little gasp. So maybe the wet ground was his blood, he hoped not. His thoughts were slow as he tried to understand his predicament and where he might be. He came up with nothing.

Dean slowly and very painstakingly tried again to sit up. He noticed that his hands and feet were tied and the knives his dad always insisted he keep with him were missing.

"Ah look, its awake." A creature, for that was all Dean could think of it as, crouched over him slightly. Its skin was a sickly grayish green and it wore no clothes. Yellow teeth and yellow eyes, the thing looked hungry.

A chill ran down Dean's spine. No words seemed to bubble out of his mouth although he tried, tried to scream or shout. The thing turned around, back towards Dean and walked away. Muttering and mimicking random sounds.

Dean soon discovered that he rather didn't like the muttering, especially since he couldn't understand what it muttered about. For example, if it muttered about tasty fish instead of tasty flesh, then Dean would be happy. But the thing could very well be muttering about his mother's bones and he'd have no idea.

A breath Dean hadn't realized he had held was released and he squirmed in his confines as much as the pain would allow him to. He was stuck with a grotesque looking thing and covered in what smelt like rotting flesh and as an added bonus, Dean had no idea what he was doing here or how he'd gotten to wherever here was.

*** *

Sam tried to ignore his racing heartbeat as he realized what he was about to do. To hell with going back to the car, Sam was going after Dean.

So instead of walking back to the impala like a good little soldier, Sam turned back around. Only to come face to face with John. Damn.

"I thought you were going back to the car Sam." John gave his son a heated stare.

"Um I w- I am. See, this is me going to the car." Sam said to his dad, almost flinching at the idea of what his dad would do.

His dad grunted and limped to the back of the car where he popped the trunk open to reveal a very unorganized armory. His fingers lightly ran over several different weapons, selecting a few he slung them over his back and went to close the trunk again. Sam reached out to stop it and met his father's eyes.

"I'm going with you." There was no question in Sam's mind.

John looked at his youngest son and sighed. He had tried so hard to keep Sam from growing up. Sam was fourteen, not really a kid anymore, and he was tall enough to look seventeen but John still held to the belief that Sam was still young enough to be…young.

"No Sammy. Sorry but you can't, I don't know what this _thing _might pull. And we've never seen anything like this before and its unpredictable as all hell. I do _not _want to get you caught up in the crossfire."

"That's even more of a reason to let me come with you." Sam reaches for another weapon but John grabs his wrist. Sam flushes red with anger.

"Dad, he's my brother. If something happens to Dean while I'm stuck here…" Sam looked up at John who stares Sam down. What wasn't said in Sam's open statement, and what John clearly understands was, if something happens to Dean, Sam would never forgivehim_. _John resisted from snarling at his son and at first tightened his grasp on Sam's wrist then dropped it as if it where a red hot coal.

Sam took the chance to grab a gun and a handful of bullets as well as a sacrificial blade.

"No." John was firm.

John saw the fury in Sammy's eyes unleashed and he prepared himself for another explosive argument. They seemed to be happening a lot more than usual ever since he turned twelve it seemed a floodgate for questions and rebellion.

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Who did he think he was? Dean was still out there, alone and probably bleeding to death, and what did his dad do? Refuse to let Sam help in the few ways he could and remind Sam again that he was 'just a kid' and every second they spent arguing only cemented the idea of Dean in peril.

"Fine."

John Balked. What?

"Go. But when you pass out from blood loss and exhaustion and when you are as good as dead, I'm going to have to rescue both Dean and your asses." Even as the words left his mouth Sam knew they sounded worse then he meant them too but he didn't care at the moment.

John paused to look at Sam, but the first thing that he said was, "Watch your tongue boy and treat me with some respect, I'm trying my hardest." The words seemed to scald Sam and he was forced to look down.

John continued, "When I order you to stay here at the car," John pointed to the ground. "I expect you to stay here. When I tell you no. I mean _no. _Sam you will not come with me and you will not argue with me anymore. If you insist being treated like an adult I expect you to act like one."

John was a man of little words. Usually the only time John and Sam actually spoke to each other, arguments aside, was to say 'pass the Chinese take out please' or 'hand me my 22 rifle son'. The two had yet to have a full and real conversation.

"Now, get in the car and wait for me to get back with Dean." John said this with a certainty that only reassured Sam a little. He still wanted to go after Dean. John had a very small and slight smile on his face as he patted Sam on the shoulder.

Sam stood watching his father walk back into the woods, shaking with anger. Sam was on the brink of tears. And had John known his son like he insisted he did, he would not have left Sam alone, by himself, with an armory for a trunk and enough anger to fuel a small tanker and with the last words being 'no'.

So all in all, a little shorter than I wanted this chapter to be and I apologize for the filler but I needed it to get things moving. Thanks and I hope you enjoyed it. If you have anything to say at all, confused or what not please tell me.

-me


	3. Chapter 3

Disclamer: No one is mine, please no sue, thanks

Chapter 3:

Sam counted to twenty, eyes shut and fists clenching and unclenching. He took a couple of deep breaths as if it could help cool off his temper. Sam usually had a cool head and not usually a very large temper, collected and reasonable Sam, but around his dad everything seemed to set him off.

He looked at the reflection staring back from his father's black impala. Other than the several weapons in the trunk, this car was the only thing John seemed to keep clean and unmarred. It was perfectly detailed, with its slick upholstery and gleaming silver rims.

Sam chuckled nastily to himself and strode over to the back and popped the trunk. After propping up the second compartment so that it revealed every weapon owned by John Winchester, Sam shoved them all aside so that he may locate his father's journal.

Leather bound and worn it was heavier than Sam had imagined and suddenly he was weary of it. It was not a foreign object to him, although it was something that was immediately branded in his mind as something not to pry into since he was very young. He slowly ran his hands down the length of it, afraid to open it. He sat down on the dirt, his back leaned up against the impala's tire and quickly looking around him to make sure no one was there, he opened it. Sam opened it so that it was held away from himself as though something might jump out and bite him.

When nothing jumped out, he brought it closer and flipped threw a couple of random pages. He was mesmerized by just how much time John must have spent bent over this book. _Focus Sam, focus! _Sam slapped himself mentally. What had the two knuckle heads been talking about before they had headed out?

Something about…smell of rotting flesh…and caves…

_Come on…what was it that dad had you investigate? Oh that's right, dad wouldn't even let me do _**that. ** Sam thought to himself bitterly. It was one of the many reasons Sam had been so furious with John. Sam's dad usually relied on Sam's research capabilities in a case, but John wouldn't even let him out of the house, let alone to the Library. That was what seemed so weird about this case, even Dean had to fight for the hunt. And Dean was 18.

Caves…That's what Dad had said, that and smelling it a mile away. So Sam quickly skimmed through the pages of the journal. It was like reading in Finnish. Nothing was organized and information was scattered in between bits of personal reflections, which Sam hurriedly passed over. About ten minutes passed, with Sam's feeling of intense fear for Dean rising every second, before he even stumbled on the word cave.

Reading a little more deeply he also found the mentioning of what it might have been. An Orobuas. A sickly pale creature and from his father's pictures gnarly looking teeth. And from what Sam could read it liked to feed on human flesh or use its body as a host so that it could trick others into becoming its next meal. Sam hoped Dean wasn't stuck with this thing. Sam prayed he was mistaken but he got up quickly and packed a small duffle bag full of what dad liked to call 'the necessities'. Salt, silver, holy water, first-aid kit, and of course, a loaded semi-automatic action shotgun.

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_Why in hell's name was he always stuck with the monster? _Dean asked himself still trying in vain to escape the rope tied so tight on his hands and feet. And where were his boots? He groaned silently to himself. Dad was defiantly going to kill him for this. How many times had he told Dean _not _to get caught? How many times had John drilled in his head that getting caught would one day be his last move? And why in god's name didn't he remember?

His name was Dean Winchester. He was a hunter, had a dad and a brother….yeah he knew his history…but up until getting out of the impala with a quick look to Sam…he had nothing.

"Looky-looky, I gots a hooky, you gonna gets gutted." The thing snickered and then looked at Dean. It grinned lopsided and its yellow eyes were slightly crazed, then it turned its ugly head back around. Dean almost peed in his pants right there.

Dean eyed the creature slightly and tried to remember what it was. But he didn't remember, probably because he hadn't cared enough to ask or take note of what it was. It was shot first ask questions latter. It's the code he lives by. Or at least lived by.

Dean sighed again and leaned up against what seemed to be a cave wall. It was moist and cool to the touch, which soothed Dean's pain immensely. He hoped he wasn't loosing too much blood but he couldn't tell what was blood and what was water in the dank cave, it was too dark. He shuffled around again so the sharp edge of the cave wall didn't dig into his lower back so much and then he froze.

Groping for the sharp edge again he found it in the perfect position to saw away at his confines. He did just that but very slowly so as the pain in his side and back was kept to a minimal. He couldn't keep the small hisses of pain to himself though and soon the project of getting free became tedious because the beast would look over at him with a sickly smile and Dean would hold his breath.

When Dean finally felt the ropes give he was feeling lightheaded and woozy. He attempted to push them away so that he could get at his feet but he had to take a slight breather to stop the cave from spinning. He almost lost the contents of his stomach but somehow managed to keep it down. Taking a rather large breath he worked away at the ropes tied to his feet. The thing knew how to use its knots was all Dean could think.

Finally he was completely loose and free from the ropes. There was only one problem, well two if you wanted to get technical. Dean had no idea where he was and therefore had no clue how to get out and, there was an obscenely grotesque monster thing keeping tabs on him. Dean slowly took the time to look around himself, again he couldn't see anything but darkness and a pit swelled in his stomach. He could stay with the beasty or he could run towards the darkest part of the cave and hope to god it was a tunnel out.

Dean decided it would be best to at least try to get out. He slowly got to his feet so that he wouldn't attract attention to himself and with one hand on the cave wall and one of his arms held out in front of him he set off at a very slow pace. He limped slightly to keep his weight off of his left leg.

Dean soon lost track of where _It _might have been because he had been lucky enough to stumble on another tunnel. He had sighed a great sigh of relief but now Dean wasn't so sure. He didn't know where this tunnel was leading him, for all he knew he could be walking into another lair.

And then an ear splitting screech echoed in the caves. It was a howl of the utmost rage.

"Where'd it GO!" It screeched. "COME BACK! Right here! Right here! It was right here!" It rambled over and over. Dean picked up the pace, trying to completely ignore the jarring pain from his body. He continued to limp-run until he hit another cave wall. Hoping it was just part of a corner and that he could get around it Dean ran a hand over the wall, he still couldn't see anything. It was a dead end.

Dean couldn't move he was so completely horrified. He could here the thing coming at him. What was he going to do? No weapons, no way out.

I am so sorry you guys for this late up-date, life caught up to me. Again.

Please review and tell me what you think! Thanks.

-Me


	4. Chapter 4

I do not own the boyos.

Enjoy

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John Winchester loved his children. When Dean was born all he could see was a football scholarship and motorcycles. He wanted the best and only the best for Dean. He would go to college and be someone in the world.

When little Sammy was born all John could imagine was the park extrusions and the model airplanes they would create. Weekends spent at the hobby store and nights spent around the table eating home cooked meals expertly made by his lovely wife.

To say the very least John had set the bars of expectation high and his boys where going to make themselves into someone of respect and success.

And then Mary had been murdered and his eyes had been opened. And he had grown terrified of what the outside world could do. There were so many dangers and suddenly the monster under Sam's bed was real.

His dreams for a happy ignorant life with his boys was shattered and all John could see was putting things right. He already knew he would never get the life he knew back, it was gone and only remnants were left, like a ghost that wouldn't rest.

John had been drinking at the local bar when he heard about this particular case. It was odd, different from most that he had encountered and only because it wasn't just people who went missing. It was people, items, items of value. Like suddenly the monster had grown taste for the arts. And everyone said the same thing.

"Poor little Jonny, he didn't know what he was doing, honest" or "Rose never hurt a fly, she was only twelve you know' or John's favorite 'It was like the child was possessed by the devil or something but of coarse that doesn't happen does it?'

Doesn't it? It makes a man think when he watches his sons grow up without a mother because she was murdered by a creature of the night.

John kicked out at a rock viciously at the memories of mockery he suffered from by the hands of his trusted neighbors. They wouldn't believe him; they refused to think that their normal neighborhood might be in jeopardy. So John had left.

John had seen something like this before, and he knew when he took the case that he needed to be careful about where he left the kids because obviously the thing liked using kids to get what it wanted. John made sure to keep Sammy out of harms way seeing as he would be the likeliest target, but with Dean, John took a chance and he had been horribly, horribly wrong.

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Dean was trapped. He was going to be eaten, ripped about limb from limb.

"Ah! I found you. Rude, rude, rude, rude! All I wanted was that clever little mind of yours....clever. Like him...''

The thing crouched down and glared at Dean. And without warning its face became disfigured in pain and it yowled and lashed out at Dean. Its claws tore threw Dean like scissors cutting paper.

Dean howled in agony as the thing then roughly grabbed at him. He pounded its hide like none other but it didn't flinch. Instead it tossed Dean like a rag doll into a far corner.

Dean landed with a thud, a moan escaping his clenched jaws. He rolled over and closed his eyes.

"She was grand. Dandy and fine. Looked better." It mumbled roughly sitting down awkwardly next to Dean.

"_He _came out of nahwere. No. no. no. NO!........."' it pounded the ground.

Dean listened warily, trying to creep away. He'd seen bones somewhere maybe he could use them as a weapon.

"Mean... I not bother... just a few here an there..."' It reached out at Dean who had almost reached the shards of bones and dragged him closer. Dean grunted, eyes watering at the burn in his body.

"You look like him...little chickadee..."'

"Who the bloody hell is _him?_"' Dean asked exasperated and in pain.

It snorted at him and then snarled deeply. "_Him. _Don't need no _name_."'

"Surely he has a name."'

"Humans and their names. Who care? Murderer. Slaughter. Heartless. Beast." They work good.''

"Really? So he's one son of a bitch huh?"' Great, so now he was talking with it.

It grunted, its slimy grey hide twitched.

"They say...Winchester. Little itty-bitty Johnny. Tore at us all bloodied. Slaughtered her, not her fault.''

Dean almost forgot to breath. So once again his father has left him in the dirt. John's motto of ignorance isn't bliss its deadly didn't seem to matter when it came to his son. That's just great.

"I'm sure he had a good reason.'' Dean said slowly bracing for another beating.

The thing snarled again and spun around to face Dean. "Is that what you think?! So killen' and slaughtering is alright when you're the one killen?''

"I had my own to feed. My own to protect! Big guy thinks he's tuff. Didn't do nothen till he stopped the natural order of things.''

"And what was that? Eating defenseless kids! Using them to get to what you needed?!'' Dean shouted back, defending his father.

It cackled, "Ha! I say didn't do _nothen _till he stopped the _natural order, _Ignorant Weasel. Hacked right threw the youngens, left them on the ground for me to find. He done it on purpose blocken off the river. I seen him.''

"Yeah okay, and I'm going to believe you because?'' Dean asked sarcasticly. His father would have done it for a good reason. He would have. Wouldn't he?

"I eat fish! Fish, you lil swine!''

"Ever thought it was because you look absolutely gorgeous and he was jealous? Huh?'' Dean asked seriously.

The thing actually smiled, and Dean felt his skin crawl. Every cell in his body urged him to flee, run like hell Dean, just run.

The thing took a step towards him and Dean scrambled towards the bones, heart racing. Panic just a moment away from clouding every thought and movement. He grasped a shard of bone and it crumbled into dust, he reached out for another and was grabbed again.

But this time Dean was ready and he took the bone shard and with all of his strength he thrust it as deep as he could into its chest. It was too tall for Dean to try to puncture its throat.

It pulled back with out a word, its hide twitching wildly, but it only tightened its grasp on Dean. Sharp shocks of pain began to ensue throughout his injured body.

"Dumb lil thing aren't you.'' It said. Its ugly eyes turning to look him in the face. It looked at Dean differently, like it knew something he didn't. Dean could feel himself becoming sick. And then he began to grow tired. Really, really, tired.

The image of the thing began to blur and he was suddenly dropped to the ground, the thing completely disfigured in his vision. Dean slowly passed out. Completely unaware.

So...I know I suck at this updating thing. I'm sorry, heh, =D Please review.....


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **The boys are not mine or coarse.

Enjoy! And thank you for all of the reviews!

_Look at you! Pathetic, failure. _It snickered in his head, the voice haunting and accusatory. Its pace grew faster and more confident as it approached Sam in the clearing.

"Sam?!" His voice shouted, rough and defiantly his own, but than again not.

_Watch pretty boy. Just for you. Stupid man. Wretched murder. Slaughter. Winchester. _It rambled on.

And Dean could only watch_, _As Sam scrambled out of hiding and scampered towards Dean's body, eyes alight and inquiring. Dean felt his body ache with every movement and jarred step forward. The monster used his hands to clench his ribs as if it could feel pain. It even added a limp here and there for effect.

_Watch, almost mine, watch as I watched. _Dean's gut clenched and he pounded against his invisible bounding. It was smothering, suddenly he couldn't breath anymore. Sam would recognize, he would realize something wasn't right with his big brother. He would.

_No he won't. _"Sammy, Sam, wh-what are you doing? Where's dad?" The words made Dean sick. Come on Sam, I'm counting on you.

Sam's face was elated, a grin from ear to ear. His eyes ran up and down Dean's figure, mentally tallying his injuries and his grin slipped a little.

Yes, he'd realized! He'd noticed, knew his baby brother was a genius. _Watch lil' boy. He never know, not know till it be tooooo late. _Again it cackled and Dean withdrew from his mind a little further, trying hard as he could to get away from its putrid thoughts.

"Um, well, I don't really know. Heh." Sam said, shrugging slightly. His hand going to his head and slightly ruffling his curls, a nervous habit Dean knew.

"So you found me?" Dean heard himself say, was that disappointment he felt?

Sam slightly narrowed his eyes at Dean. Of _coarse _he'd found Dean. Did his big brother really think him that terrible of a hunter? A mighty twinge of hurt rattled throughout him. Sam only nodded his head, the grip on his gun slightly tightening.

Dean looked in rough shape, blood seeped slightly threw his t-shirt and jeans. His brother's face was badly scraped and blood trickled from his nose, he swiped it away though as Sam's eyes lingered on his nose. He needed to get Dean back to the car and then find Dad, and only then.

"Let's get back to the car." Sam restrained himself from running to Dean and giving him a bear hug that he so wanted to give him. He'd been so terrified at the thought of loosing his big brother. A tight fist clenched even tighter at the thought within his stomach.

"So where's dad?" Sam heard Dean ask a second time. Sam paused and looked up at his brothers face.

"I think you hit your head maybe." Sam smirked and continued to walk towards the duffle bag on the ground. "I don't know where he's at but let's get back to the car. Can you walk that far?"

"Yeah. Right, Yeah I can walk that. What's with the armory Sam?" Dean asked limping along, his face didn't show pain and silently Sam wondered if he was just putting on the "big brother" act.

"Ah, you disappeared and I wanted to be prepared." Sam said shrugging, a slight flush racing across his cheeks.

Dean felt himself sink slightly, Sam had no idea. He was still trapped. But Dean could no longer feel the pain from his body though, I guess that was a blessing.

Sam began to walk forward, his steps looked hesitant. He turned slowly back around. "Dean. Where is the creature?"

Why hadn't Dean not even mentioned it? He didn't seem to have a weapon with him and according to his dad's journal they were gnarly beasts.

"What? Oh, Its been taken care of, don't worry Sam." Worry Sam, worry like you always do. Dean thought to himself.

_Creature? _It snorted hatred boiling in its stomach. Dean's stomach. He struggled against the feeling, fleeing from it. It battered against Dean's mind until Dean was sick, disoriented, and very lost. He was drowning in the monster's own thoughts; they were so full of hate and sorrow.

"Don't worry? Dean, it shredded dad and still managed to get away with you, _and _while he was still alive. What did you use? How'd you get out? Why are you still _walking?_" Sam asked an incredulous look on his face.

Sam knew his brother was strong, very strong. Someone who could hold his own in a tussle against ten others and still be fine the next morning. But Dean _really _didn't look good. He looked pale and covered in blood. His leg looked crooked but Dean wouldn't be stupid enough to be walking around like that, so he must be looking at it wrong. He held his ribs loosely, making Sam wonder why he would be holding his side and not wincing with every breath he took or step.

Sam shrugged inwardly, he was just being critical.

_I don't like this kid. No a' all. But I wait. I wait just for you lil man. _Dean flinched inwardly, giving up on the idea of getting Sam's attention, he had no control over his body, or its functions, hell the only thing he could do was feel. And he was loosing feeling in his hands not to mention he couldn't feel what should be like cracking bones in his body anymore. No longer could he feel the rough fabric of his jeans or the damp dripping of trickling blood. For some reason this bothered Dean but he was beginning to forget why.

Dean's conscious slipped slightly and he sank away relieved to leave the hate ridden body he couldn't escape. Sam. No, he couldn't leave yet, not yet.

Sam watched what looked like Dean squirming. It was a very surreal look to him. "Sam don't worry so much. I'm in one piece, and the…creature is gone. Don't know what happened it just got up and left."

"Yeah, okay Dean, what ever you say. Dad's going to want more than that." Sam continued to watch Dean, he walked ahead of him as though he knew where he was going. Sam was going to say something but Dean paused and looked back at him.

"Ah Sam, I don't know where I'm going. Why don't you lead, so dad will meet us at the car?"

"No. We," Sam demonstrated to people walking with his hands, "are going to walk to the car and then I am going to get dad." Sam rolled his eyes slightly and walked ahead.

"Right." Was all Dean said. No smart ass remark or sly attempt at swatting at him. Sam shrugged off the feeling that Dean was acting weird. He was just hurt and needed sleep, it had been more than a day since he'd eaten, Dean must be starving.

Sam reached the impala with a sigh of relieve. He shuffled around slightly, looking for the first aid kit. Finding it under piles of dirty clothes and burger king wrappers he opened it up and handed it off to Dean.

"Here, I'll be right back, I know which way he went so I shouldn't be more than twenty minutes. So uh, try to fix yourself up." Sam said, patting his brother on his shoulder.

Sam trotted down the second trail his father had taken. He was lucky and didn't have to go too far. John was running back up his face crestfallen and held in defeat. When John saw Sam walking towards him his face flared in anger.

"Samuel what are you-"

"Dad I found Dean, he's back at the car." Sam said, ignoring his father's accusing glare.

"What? How? I thought I told you," John paused and looked down at his youngest son. Sam really was growing up fast, he was on the short side but he was starting to fill out. He carried himself like a sixteen year old, not like a fourteen year old should. John knew life had been rough on all of them. "It doesn't really matter does it?"

"No not really." Sam replied, a slight grin tugging at his lips. They'd be okay. They always were. And that stupid feeling of discomfort in the pit of his stomach would leave. It was just an after effect of the adrenaline.

John griped Sam's shoulders roughly but affectionately. "Good." Was all he said.

Good 'ol dad, thee be of little words. Sam said to himself.

The two walked back to the impala in silence. They watched Dean rifle threw the first aid's contents without pulling anything out, just a puzzled look on his face.

"Dad, I think Dean hit his head pretty hard, he's in bad shape too." Though he acted otherwise.

Dean saw his dad and Sam walking towards him, he immediately tried to run away. Before the thing realized this was the man who destroyed its' livelihood. But of coarse it was a lost cause. Dean exhausted himself just trying.

Suddenly though Dean's body erupted in full force hatred. It bubbled threw his system like boiling water in a kettle. Seeping threw every pore, Dean saw in red. It wanted to hurt John bad, _Dean _wanted nothing more than to kill the Winchester right there. _Dean _wanted to eat that Winchester's still beating heart but not before he slowly killed the kid in front of him.

But no, first it would see where it stood. See where its weakest points where and then Dean would attack. The Winchester would beg to be put out of its misery.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the boys =]

Im back from a very, very, very long holiday. Maybe I'll even get around to finishing this!

Sam watched as Deans body shook violently and his already pale face became paler. His fists clenched and unclenched, the tightening of muscles forcing more blood to pool at Dean's bare feet. Why hadn't Dean said something about not having his boots? "Dean, you alright?" He asked, looking around his father's broad shoulders. "You look like your about to hurl or cough up a large hair ball." Sam attempted to keep his voice light, but to no avail. Joking wasn't his thing. That was Dean.

Dean jerked his face up to meet Sam's eyes. A searing emotion of hatred almost had Sam knocked on his butt, as it were, he took a step back. John looked over his shoulder at Dean. Sam quickly shook his head and took a few step towards Dean. Ashamed at the fear that had coursed through him at the one moment.

Dean clenched his eyes shut tightly, placed a hand on th impala for what looked like support and spat blood on the ground. He stood slightly straighter. His eyes now clouded with pain. "Mmhmm. Right as rain Sammy."

John moved towards Dean, forgetting for a moment his youngest son.

Sam watched as John helped his eldest son into the back of the impala. Sam felt as though an ice sickle had been shoved into his body. _Right as rain. _Sam wasn't a fan of rain, there was nothing right with rain at all. It caused boredom and messes, not to mention more work. Something went off in the back of his mind, it reminded Sam of a time when they'd created a short handed language during a particularly large rain storm. It reminded him of the term _funky town. _

Sam knew his dad would want go to the motel first, to first investigate whether or not Dean needed medical attention. Sam didn't like that, something was wrong with that idea, Dean needed a hospital.

Once John shut the door with a soft yet firm shove Sam made a move closer to him, so that Dean wouldn't hear Sam so clearly, he would protest otherwise. "Dad. We should prolly go to a hospital." He started off softly.

When you approach John, one should understand a certain amount of tact. You could not demand things from the man, not the way Sam wanted to.

John shook his head, not truly looking at Sam. "No. We will go home first and then make a decision about his needs. There's no need for anymore outside attention." John stepped to the side to move around his younger son. Sam moved in his way.

John looked at Sam now, it was disconcerting to notice that he was a little under eye level. How had he not noticed how fast he was growing? John shook the thought aside as his temper began to rise with the insubordination. "No John, Dean really needs to see someone that isn't us I think. He looks really, really bad. And not in a normal 'after a bad hunt' kind of way." Sam's voice was quiet but it was solid and in a tone that was meant to be heard.

Sam's heart raced in his chest. He did not remember truly being able to ever stand in this man's way. Obviously he found ways to undermine the man's control on his life, but they were subtle. Things like staying in contact with old teachers, frequenting the same areas when they were on a hunt, going to the movies instead of the library. Harmless adolescent kind of things. Sam could see John becoming less impatient. His blood streaked clothing and face starting to blend in on a face that was slowly turning red.

"Samuel do not be difficult. It is not safe to go to the hospital right now. We have other matters to attend to first and then if the situation is unsalvageable we will obviously go." John looked tired. But he had lost too much blood, that much was clear. John wouldn't deny that dean needed help otherwise.

"No John. No. Dean needs professionals. People who have taken years of schooling, and have degrees. Not roadside manuals for cross stitching and boy scout knots!" Sam was furious, Dean was bleeding purfusely, he was pale and sweating. Shock was going to set in anytime. The idea he was walking around already pointed to an adrenaline high that would soon drop and leave him without a crutch.

"Samuel get in the car."

"John-"

"Enough. And don't call me John. Get in the car."

Dean looked out the impala's window at his brother and father who were both exchanging heated words. Sam's face was contorted in an emotion of anger. Absently Dean thought how it did the awkward looking teenager nothing for his looks, and his father only seemed to grow more reddish-purple at Sam's own audacity. He would have laughed at his own witty thoughts if it wouldn't have caused him to bleed another quart of the stuff. _Right as rain my ass. _His conscious was quiet for the moment and he was allowed to feel the full brunt of his wounds. Lifting a hand from his chest Dean pulled it away wet and glistening red. He stifled a moan as he was overwhelmed with the feeling of agony that radiated throughout his battered body. The creature had done a hell of a number on him before taking his body as a host, which truly made no sense unless it was planning on using someone else as a host body sooner rather than later.

The things entered into his mind with a cackle. _Clever, clever, clever. Little jonny's boy nos so slow…_it giggled quietly again. _Even with your insides on the outside. _

Dean's inner voice snarled in defiance but he was too weak to say anything more. Dean slumped into unconsciousness.

Let me know what you think, or if this story is even salvageable. =]


	7. Chapter 7

The Boys and anything related to the Supernatural TV series does not belong to me. Though like so many girls, I sometimes allow myself to dream.

Enjoy!

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_Insides on my outsides…What the hell? _Dean woke to the quiet murmur of beeping monitors and the steady flow of what must have been some form of pain killers and fluids. He followed the several tiny tubes in circles until looking at them made his head swim. He wasn't one for needles so he daren't look at the ones connected to his arms and chest. As it were, the stiff feeling of them all made him queasy. Or perhaps that was just the sickly smell of the antiseptic covered hospital.

Dean didn't remember what it was that had driven him to such desperation. He was hard pressed to remember the last time his father had allowed themselves to be toted into a hospital. _Dad. _The thought of John stirred something within him. Dean scratched at it, pushed at it, just to catch a glimpse of a memory that would remind him of anything.

_Sam. _Where was his brother? The thought of his younger sibling sent bubbles of panic up his chest and into his throat. Why would he be alone, in a hospital? They must have been on a hunt. One that hadn't ended so well. Obviously though his father and brother would walk through those disgustingly white doors any moment now, they would come in with coffee and battered smiles…

That's how he got into this too stiff of a bed right? His father and brother had brought him here. Because a hunt hadn't ended well and he must have suffered a considerable sized concussion to not remember much of anything. At all.

Again the thought of his father stirs something within his chest, like a snake uncoiling. It isn't a pleasant feeling. Dean rubs at his chest and then immediately regrets the decision. His side flares with forgotten pain as stitches do there best to hold tightly onto flesh. _John Winchester. Jonny's boy got clever, so clever. _

The thought is not Deans. But then that is impossible. Only one voice existed inside ones head…unless you were crazy…or suffered multiple personality disorder…or were possessed.

He isn't allowed to think on the topic anymore though as a woman bustles her way in. She's wearing dark scrubs with ridiculous looking animals that remind Dean of a time when he would have visited children's pediatric offices. She's gorgeous though. Dark curls are bound up in some sort of knot that allows her bangs to fall over green eyes. She has the curves of any fine bar maiden, and a chest teenage Dean doesn't mind ogling.

She clears her throat and Dean smirks in his Dean way. She does not wait long to dive into matters, and as she does, Dean's smirk slowly falls. "A gentleman found you on the side of the road. Near the caves with the old ruins?" She says this as if he's supposed to be following. So he nods. "Well he brought you here. You fractured two ribs, bruised two more. You've been given a total 275 stitches along your left side, though I'm sure you'll become more than aware of their placings. You seem to have also suffered a concussion, and a few minor bruises and cuts along your legs and feet. Your left hand index finger is also broken. And your body had an unusal amount of salt in its' system. So much so that we had to pump your stomach."

Dean risks a look at his hand, internally he grunts; impressed with the magnitude of damage his body has succumbed too. He looks back up at the woman. "Sos my Dad and bro in se waiting roam?" Dean's tongue is heavy with drugs as he forces it to work properly.

A look of confusion appears on the woman's face. "Sorry, as far as I know you were brought in alone. The gentleman said he found you covered in blood, yelling about monster's in your head. Which is why you were scanned for a concussion."

Right. Maybe his dad had pulled a classy 'stranger saves the day' kind of thing, obviously he would not have dragged Sammy into this. Dean almost splits a grin at the thought of his brother's little look of teenage anger at being left out. The monster comment doesn't faze him though, comments like that come with the job. Even John would say so.

"Right...sos this 'yentlman', hes tall, gruff lookin' fase, usually loos lie this?" Dean takes a moment to scowl.

The woman shakes her head, a worried expression playing across her face. "No he's actually rather short, kind of balding, and though he doesn't smile he does not scowl either. Said his name was Mr. Jordan. He was only passing through, he left a day ago when we told him your condition was stable."

Panic sets in. Dean searches her face. "Sos was therr a car? A wreck? Bodies?" The last word comes out gasped in his mangled speech.

She tilts her head and reaches for the clipboard at the end of Dean's medical bed. Busying her hands with something to do. "You're going to have to talk to the authorities. As far as I have been told, you are the only trauma patient in the last three days that we have seen in this small town, asides from Hank's chopped finger incident."

She says it all as though she hasn't just told Dean he has been alone for three days. Where is his family? What has been done to them?

_Come on Jonny's boy. Piece by piece, puzzles piece by piece. _

The thought sends chills down Dean's spine, so far does the chill spread, that it seems to seep into his bones. And as though the voice is a trigger, suddenly Dean begins to remember.

_He's blindsided by the sight of his father's broken body laying face first in the dirt next to the black impala that has been recently peppered by shotgun pellets. The car's hood is a mangled mess as Dean sees its run into a large tree. Smoke steadily rises, a sight that charactisticly matches the sound of the sputtering and stalled out vehicle._

_Sam lays by the car, propped up on the deflated back tire. Blood sickly trickles from his nose and from a wound on his exposed collar bone. "Dean? Dean it's not your fault. But you've got to fight it. Salt." He says it in an whisper barely audible._

_And then Dean see's himself, but it can't be him. He's looking down on Sam. Though not through his own eyes. He's looking through someone else's. He can't seem to move, can't seem to think, he can only witness the carnage of his family that is without a doubt a result of his own actions. He can see blood on him, and he knows it does not all belong to himself. Dean's self catches a glimpse in the car window of the impala but only a creature looks back. It snarls and lets out a cackle._

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So I've given the story a little flip, We'll have to see how it works out. ;]


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